


Ends And Beginnings Long Overdue

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Divorce, F/M, Fluff, Forgive Me, I don't even dare proofread bc then I will probably delete this and then myself, I know nothing of lawyering and I think you can tell, Modern AU, Oh My God, Referenced Emotional Abuse, Sansa is a little ooc/too frank but it's since she's under a lot of pressure hahah, Stark sister bonding, look I have literally no fucking clue what happened with this one, this is really angsty but in a funny/enjoyable way I hope lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: Sansa, slightly panicked and more-than-slightly heartbroken, needs out from a bad marriage. Through Arya, she comes into contact with Jon Snow; childhood friend of their brother turned divorce lawyer.





	Ends And Beginnings Long Overdue

**Author's Note:**

> ... I'm sorry about this.

"Arya?" Sansa whispered in the darkness, more sensing than seeing her sister beside her in the bed.

 

Sansa was staying at Arya and Gendry's, not quite trusting herself to be alone under the current circumstances. Sansa'd figured she and her sister could stay up all night with a bottle of wine and laugh bitterly at the situation and she'd be a little distracted from the shitstorm her pretty little life had turned into. The reality of the night had, however, turned out rather differently; Gendry and Arya were just so eerily sweet with one another, and despite their bantering and teasing - or perhaps because of it - they painted such a picture of domestic bliss Sansa had trouble breathing. 

She'd cried thrice before dinner was even over; once on the couch when Arya asked how she was, really, and Sansa attempted to explain but became exhausted by her own patheticness, bursting into tears, making Nymeria jump up on the couch and lick her cheeks in comfort; once when Gendry said something consoling to her in that short, but strangely eloquent and comforting way of his, making her sob almost surprisedly over the delicious pasta dish that Sansa's grieving taste buds couldn't even begin to do justice; once when Arya revealed she had gotten some of those lemon cakes that Sansa loved from Hot Pie's down the street, just at the pure, ordinary kindness of the act.

 

Here, in the bedroom, lying beside Arya, Gendry graciously having offered to sleep on the couch, Sansa's mind felt a little clearer, though the pain was still there, a permanent boulder in her stomach.

 

Breakups hurt, Sansa had known since middle school.

 

But divorces ...

 

Divorces were worse, she was learning.

 

Not that she really knew, yet. Nothing was certain, nothing had been filed. Harry didn't even seem to take her seriously, when she told him she wanted one - he appeared to view it as some sort of phase Sansa was going through, as if she'd soon wake up and see the error of her ways and beg him to start emotionally manipulating her again.

 

She wouldn't, though. Sansa had sworn that to herself. And she would file the damn paperwork. Arya had encouraged her to do so, in between the spontaneous sobbing sessions - had left the dinner table to go fetch a card.

 

"Jon Snow", it'd said. The name rang a bell.

 

"It's Robb's old friend, you know? Jon Snow. They met at fencing practice? He moved north in high school? Tall guy, dark hair, a little brooding, the nicest man alive?"

 

"Only if you compared him to Theon Greyjoy."

 

Arya grimaced at the name.

 

"Anyway, Jon's a lawyer now, here, I mean, in Wintertown." Arya hesitated, appearing scared that Sansa would start crying again. "A ... divorce lawyer. Just tell him you're Robb's sister."

 

Sansa had indeed fought back tears, but she'd accepted the card, holding onto it like a lifeline. It was with her now in Arya's bedroom, safely tucked away in a secret pocket of her purse lying on the floor.

 

"Arya?" she whispered again, a little more forcefully this time. Her sister was probably asleep, and Sansa should leave her alone, but she felt almost unable to.

 

Arya grunted and rolled over in bed. Nymeria, at their feet, whined a little before settling down.

 

"What?" she muttered. The fact that she hadn't bitten her sister's head off yet showed Sansa that Arya was really trying to be supportive.

 

"Why did this happen to me? How did this happen to me? Honestly?" Sansa whispered, more candid when no one could see her. “I had dreams, I had aspirations ... I was going to be a graphic designer! A really, really good one. And ... I wanted to be happy, just happy, you know, get married to someone nice and get a mom-and-dad type of marriage ... I just ... what happened to my dreams, Arya?”

A pause. Sansa almost thought Arya had gone to sleep, when an answer came in the darkness.

"Do you really want to do this right now, Sans?"

"Yes. Please. Tell me the truth. I can take it."

"Do you promise not to cry again?"

"I swear I'll try my best."

A pause again. Sansa could hear her sister take a deep breath.

“Well, the truth is ... the reason most of your dreams didn’t come true is that you gave up on them.”

The simple, harsh truth rang in Sansa’s ears.

“I’m not saying Harry’s not an ass, Sans, because you know he is, and you know I’d murder him for you -”

“Arya - “

“What!? Seriously! Gendry and I have been watching all these crime dramas, and I’m pretty sure we could actually pull of an assassination at this point ...”

“Arya, for god’s sake, we were in the middle of the most depressing conversation ...”

“Just saying! Robb’s not the only one who took fencing classes, you know? Just a stab here and there and someone could find Harry’s head in a dumpster out of town. Easy peasy.”

“Can we get back to talking about my life crumbling down and my weak character, please?” 

“Right, were was I? Oh, yeah, Harry is an ass, but honestly? He was when you met him, Sansa.”

“Not as much of an ass.”

“But a little bit of an ass, and now he’s even more of an ass, and here you are. He was never exactly family man material, Sansa, even you have to admit that.”

“... I was in love with him. I thought he’d come around. I was nineteen!”

“Yes! Exactly! And you married him! And I know you were in love”, Arya said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “I know you thought he’d change, that you’d overcome the challenges together or whatever those romantic ideals of yours says ... I just ... You wondered where your dreams went, and I mean they’re still there Sans - you just chose to put someone else before them. Before everything else.” Bitterness crept into Arya’s tone at her last words.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, a little scared, dreading what she might be about to hear.

“Well ... I ... you’ve been distant, Sansa. For a long time. You cut yourself off a bit from us. From the family, and your old friends ... when was the last time you spoke to Marg? Or Jeyne Poole? Or Robb’s Jeyne? Or Robb, for that matter?”  
  
“I spoke to Robb like two days ago!”

“You know he and Jeyne had a miscarriage a couple of weeks ago?”

Sansa sat up straight in bed, shock and horror taking turns feasting at her.

“ _What?_  No one told -”

“I know, and I wasn’t supposed to tell you now either. You had so much going on ... Sorry, Sans, I’m not trying to guilt trip you here, I just ... you didn’t just put Harry’s needs ahead of your own, which honestly was bad enough. You put them in front of  _everyone_  else’s.” 

Silence fell. Sansa blinked back those tears she’d sworn she’d try to keep at bay. She didn’t want to cry now. She wanted to process, mull over, melt what Arya told her.

It was truth, she recognized as much - but oh, how it stung.

“I didn’t even know they were trying to have a baby”, she said in a low voice. Her big brother, so strong all the time. Jeyne, with the loud laugh that she hated but everyone else loved. 

“They weren’t. I think. It’s ... they were pretty broken up about it.”

“What else?” Sansa breathed, heart aching. “What else did I miss?”

“I don’t know, Sans”, Arya said softly, a hand reaching over to stroke her back. Sansa felt she didn’t deserve it. “Little things.”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

“I know. It’s not too late, you know. For anything.”

Sansa wondered if that was true.

She laid awake in the darkness. Out of courtesy to her sister, she waited until Arya was asleep before she started crying again.

* * *

“Mrs Hardyng?” the receptionist called out.

Sansa, bitterly regretting having left that name - she was new to this whole divorce thing, but if this day went smoothly she wouldn’t even  _be_  mrs Hardyng for much longer. Nevertheless, she got up, following the smiling receptionist into an intimidatingly nice office.

She had, finally, gathered up enough courage to call the divorce lawyer. It had taken a while - it had been almost three months, since that night at Arya’s when she’d first gotten his card. She’d officially moved out of Harry’s and her’s flat, having moved in with Jeyne and Robb in their basement, which was a tiny, separate apartment.

She was feeling kind of shitty, but she could breathe a little again.

The receptionist speaking brought her back to reality.

“Mr Snow? Your ten o’clock.” 

In the desk chair sat, indeed, Robb’s old fencing partner Jon Snow, and Sansa was surprised to find that she recognized him very well. Those cheekbones were still as worthy of envy, that dark hair was still as unruly, those grey eyes still as piercing.

He had grown, however, really, mindnumbingly attractive, in a way that his gangly teenage self had definitely not been.

In a way that made Sansa very, very nervous.

“Mrs Hardyng”, he greeted her formally (yes, definitely a bad idea to leave that name), as the receptionist left and closed the door behind her. “Please have a seat. I’m Jon Snow.”

“I know”, she blurted out awkwardly, blushing at her own social clumsiness. “Uhm, I ... we used to ... I don’t know if they told you, I mean, I said so, on the phone ... uhm ... I’m Robb’s sister? From, you know, ehrm, middle school?”

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, before recognition finally swept over his features.

“Sansa”, he said, looking her over. “Sansa Stark!”

“Yeah. Well, it’s Hardyng now. Sansa Hardyng. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, I know. But I ... I mean I want it to be Stark again. I’m ... that’s why I’m here, you know. To get a divorce.” 

He blinked, seeming startled by her forwardness. Sansa’s blush was all-consuming at this point. Apparently, this divorce thing also came with a personality change and a lobotomy, free of charge.

“Right. Uhm ... yes, right. I got the paperwork.” He started fiddling with the file on his desk. “Sorry, mrs Hardyng -”

“You can say Sansa. For old time’s sake.” Oh, bloody  _hell_ , was she flirting? Her mouth was. Without her consent. Flirting with her divorce lawyer. How classy.

“Sansa. How long’d you been married to mr Hardyng?” he asked, looking serious. Sansa had a bizarre urge to giggle, all of a sudden. She was always hysterical one way or another, these days, it seemed.

“Six years. No ... wait ... almost seven.” He nodded.

“I see. And did you have a prenuptial agreement?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Of what nature?”

“Uhm ... god, this is really embarrassing, but I’m not ... I can’t say exactly what it said ... I’m sorry! It’s, I was young ...”

“That’s alright. I think I have it in the file - we’ll go over it in a moment. How about shared assets? Did you purchase any items of greater value during the marriage? Real estate, cars, anything of that nature?”  
  


“Uhm, yes. Several cars.” Though Harry had made sure she knew those were his, not theirs. “No property, I mean we lived together of course, but he ... I mean he owned the apartment before I moved in.”

“I see. And children?”

“No. No children.” Thank god. Though Sansa had wanted to. But Harry was ... what expression had Arya used ...  _not family man material_.

Suddenly, without forewarning, Sansa felt tears begin pricking. Damn it, she’d been doing so well - her surprise sob attacks, that Arya had affectionately began calling them, were few and far between, these days. But coming here, sitting in this huge office with someone she’d known when she was young and happy and innocent, recollecting her disaster of a marriage, realizing she was actually, really getting a divorce ... It all became so uncomfortably real, all of a sudden.

And so she started crying. The most humiliating cry of her life, probably. Jon Snow was looking in her file, probably getting out that damn prenup, and did not see her distress.

“Okay, so this agreement mostly covers the spousal support in the event of a divorce, but there is a section ... mrs Ha...  _Sansa_... are you  _crying_!?”

“No”, Sansa sobbed.

He fell silent.

“I’m so sorry”, she practically wailed. She couldn’t stop. Physically could not suffocate the sobs that escaped her. She didn’t dare look at Jon Snow. “I’m sorry”, she said again, tears still streaming.

“Don’t be”, he said in what was probably meant to be a cheerfully reassuring tone, though he still seemed a little panicked at the situation (Sansa couldn’t blame him). “Happens all the time, in this line of work.” With that, he pushed a conveniently placed pack of tissues towards her over the desk.

“Thanks”, she said, drying her tears, the sobs finally appearing to have stopped. “God, how do you  _do_  this all day? Listen to people crying, and, like ... plunder around in the ashes of broken marriages?” He snorted at the expression.

“Oh, believe me, this wasn’t my first choice of work.” Realizing what he said, he seemed almost horrified. “Sorry, that was unprofessional. Are you well? Should I get some water so that we can continue - “

“I’m fine now. And I ugly cried at your desk. This can’t be a professional meeting anymore anyway.” Plus, she was pretty sure she’d start crying again if they kept talking about the divorce. “Tell me what your first choice of work was.”

“Well, I wanted to be an  _environmental_  lawyer”, he said, almost shyly. “Work with the nature reserves up north, that type of thing.”

“Impressive.” Idealistic. Like Sansa herself was always accused of being.

“But then I graduated, I had student debt, I needed a quick job ...”

“... and you couldn’t afford to follow your heart.”

“Yeah, something like that. I’m sorry, should we get back to -”

“No!” she protested, a little too harshly, startling the poor man. God, she must seem like a psychopath. Perhaps he was just stalling her until security could get there to escort her out. “No, I ... let’s talk about something else a little. Sorry, is that alright?”

“Whatever you need.” She couldn’t tell if that was a professional or personal reassurance. They did know each other a little, after all. Or  _had_  known each other, rather.

“So ... uhm ... Fencing practice.”

“What?”

“That’s how you met my brother, right?” A surprised laugh from Jon Snow at that.

“Yes, that’s right. Fencing practice with mr Cassel.”

“Good times.”

“It was.”

“And you used to come to dinner at our house all the time.”

“You always ate all the lemon cakes.” She giggled, surprised that he’d remembered. Emboldened, she continued on an entirely unprofessional path.

“Didn’t I walk in on you when you were changing, once?” Gods, he was going to call the police.

“Nope. Not me. That was Greyjoy.”

“Right!” Sansa giggled again. God, she really was giggling a lot, wasn’t she?

“He kept bragging about that afterwards, you know. As if he’d accomplished something.” Jon rolled his eyes, but smiled, and Sansa was relieved that he didn’t seem to mind that the conversation had derailed entirely.

“Ew.”

“I know.”

“Have you talked to Robb lately? I forgot to ask him, he doesn’t know I’m here today.”

“I haven’t seen him in forever. Too bad, though. He’s the best fencing partner I ever had.” A teasing glint in his eyes. 

“You should call him. I’m sure he’d be glad.”

“I really should.”

Silence fell, and with another blush Sansa realized that for a minute or two, she’d almost managed to forget that this was the low-point of her life and all that. 

“I’m sorry”, she said, because she felt she had to, though she wasn’t really sure exactly what she was sorry for. “I ... we can continue now. I’m really sorry. I promise not to cry again.”

Jon Snow watched her closely, with an unreadable look on his face, before shooting her a crooked, kind smile and placing the pack of tissues on her side of the desk.

“Don’t hold back for my sake."


End file.
